Then and Now
by rosenymphadoramalfoy
Summary: After the war, the Ministry fights to put the wizarding world back together. After a tragic accident, Hermione fights to put her memories in their place once more. The journey continues as history is rewritten and her future holds something, and someone, few could have predicted. / DRAMIONE. Flashbacks and present day alternating. Post-Battle of Hogwarts. Enjoy.
1. Prologue

_Inhale, exhale, repeat._

 _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

 _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

 _How long had she been doing this?_

The thought surprised her, causing a sharp inhale, the air trapped in her lungs until she remembered the pattern. Exhaling slowly, chapped lips pressed together, their surface desperate for moisture. It took the strength of a lion to push her tongue forward to wet them, ever-conscious of the rhythm that guaranteed survival.

 _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

This time, a cold, sterile smell filled her nostrils, her nose crinkling slightly, the world still in darkness. Swollen fingers gathered a light fabric between them, moving in slow, concentrated circles. One arm, she felt, was draped across her torso, bound closely to her, and it was so great effort to move her free hand that it threatened to plunge her back into unconsciousness.

A dull pain pulled from the back of said hand, signaling that her freedom could not be won so easily.

Brown eyes fluttered open ever so slightly, the harsh light blinding upon first sight. Her world was a blur, and from the small sliver she allowed herself, the tired orbs focused first on the wires connected to her hand, trailing along them until they cascaded out of sight behind her, further than the pain in her shoulders would allow her to turn her neck.

It was then that her eyes fell upon the machine to her right, its shape distorted by the light filtering in through a window behind it. The blinds were closed, a mint curtain hanging limply but open, the machine beeping methodically, unfeelingly, comfortingly.

It was this sound that had kept her company since her arrival. How many hours she had lain unfeeling, unthinking beside it, her only company the shadow of a dream teetering on the edge of a nightmare. Hours alone… or had it been days?

The young woman's brow knit with confusion and a suppressed cough escaped her still-chapped lips.

The muffled noise was enough to stir a figure just below the window, and she was suddenly aware that she was not, indeed, alone.

Her lashes fluttered together furiously, heavy though free of any real burden; as the blurred edges sharpened, what she had thought to be dark, low wall, emerged with a head of blonde hair, strong hands wiping his own eyes in an effort to focus on her. His movement forward was so swift he staggered, barely keeping himself upright. What a pair they made, she thought.

"Hermione?"

The word was unfamiliar to her, but the voice sounded of home. Whatever that was.

Again she blinked, and when her almond eyes opened again, the boy was approaching cautiously, one hand outstretched. His green-gray eyes were washed with relief, sleep caught lingering in their corners, but they remained glued to her.

Her first attempt at speech was nothing but a raspy breath, a cough catching up quickly, and another attempt to lift her hand to her lips was thwarted by its necessary chains.

"Hold on," came the voice again, eager and gentle, as she watched the young man bolt for a table on the other side of the room, never taking his eyes from her. He fumbled with a pitcher and a glass, and the sound of falling water had never been so soothing.

"What the bloody hell are you– Mione!"

Another voice, this one lower and more ill-tempered came from her left, and she chased its words to a second young man perched in a chair by the door. He was paused mid-movement, one hand in his messy mop of red hair, the other his only brace to keep him upright. He looked as though he had seen a ghost, and yet blue eyes swept towards her, their look softening as their lids widened in disbelief.

"She just woke up," came the voice from before, the blonde stepping forward on her right side, bearing the cup of liquid gold carefully in hand.

Attempting to sit up, she found herself tangled in the cords, hindered by her presumably broken arm, and both boys reached forward to help her. The movements were so sudden that they caused her to flinch back into the pillows, a pain searing through her neck and she turned away.

The red-head had his hands outstretched towards her, his brow furrowed.

His mate held one hand up in surrender but continued to move toward her. "Here, let me help," he soothed. His gaze scanned her features for any hint of a reaction as he brought the cup to her lips, taking a knee by the bed to assist her.

Water had never tasted so good, and she finally managed to lift her fingers to urge the cup higher, draining every drop. When her energy was exhausted, the glass empty, she slumped back against the pillows, savoring the taste.

The boys were exchanging glances, and her eyes bounced back and forth between them as though watching a tennis match, the pounding of her chest matching the escalating beep of the machine at her side.

"Hermione, it's alright. You're safe here."

 _What was the pattern?_

 _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

 _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

 _Inhale, exhale…_ "Where am I?"

This time, the broad-shouldered boy towering on her left replied. "St. Mungo's, Hermione… You've been here for a week."

Not minutes, not hours, but days. She'd been caged in the darkness for seven days. The thought was dizzying.

"You're safe, Hermione," came the first voice again, and she searched eagerly for his gaze. Inhale, exhale, repeat. "He can't find you here. He's gone."

 _Who? Who was gone? Who had done this to her? And why? Why her?_ It was enough to send her reeling.

 _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

 _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

She reached out a hand to grip the covers, desperate to steady herself, but her fingers were swallowed by a hand twice as large as her own. Resisting the urge to pull away, she fixed her eyes on her feet, memorizing the pattern of the hand-knit blanket that was thrown over them. The colors were warm and welcoming, a far cry from the rest of the room's dressings. It smelled of cinnamon and fire, a faraway place she could not name.

"Hermione, what is it?"

Finally, she pushed past the lingering haze to ask the question that had been fighting forward from the beginning. "Do I…" With a final glance at each of the boys, she returned to the rhythm.

 _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

 _Inhale, exhale, repeat._

"…do I know you?"


	2. Chapter 1: Then

_BACK THEN: September 1, 1991 - King's Cross Station_

* * *

"Hermione Jean, wait for your mother!"

No matter the stern tone of his voice, an amused smile remained at the taut lips of Carlisle Granger as he and his wife pushed a heavy-laden cart through Kings Cross Station. Maryanne ran a light hand with a knowing touch over her husband's arm as they side-stepped a gaggle of rambunctious teenagers also pressing forward toward platforms 9 and 10.

The bushy brown hair of their only daughter bounced ahead of them and disappeared a moment later.

Hermione was wide-eyed and expectant, heart pounding in her chest beneath a freshly pressed uniform ash she blazed forward, straight into a brick wall. Chill bumps bubbled over her skin and a shudder ran down her spine as the wall melted over her, reassembling itself behind her seconds later. The scene before her was almost too much to handle. It was the stuff of dreams.

Particularly her dreams, heavily influenced by Chapters 9 and 10 of _Hogwarts, A History_ which gave the details of the security measures taken to protect the magical school and the various permitted forms of transportation that led to its hiding place. The sketch of the Hogwarts Express did not do this magnificent steam engine justice.

Her bright brown eyes could not drink it in fast enough. The gleaming red of the main cabin, the undeniable crest of the educational establishment, figures streaming past her by the dozens in matching skirts, sweaters, and vests, blurring in their hurried movement. The adults lingering nearby, calling out for students both young and old, were dressed in a wild fashion, the likes Hermione had only seen in more of her books, and on the majestic woman who visited her home last June.

"Hermione Jean Granger!"

The eleven-year-old girl turned crimson, unaware that in a few short hours she would proudly wear the same color, and hurried toward the entrance to the platform. As she bounced back to her parents, she collided with a figure roughly her size, and the pre-teens propelled off each other toward their respective destinations.

"Sorry!" she called, offering an apologetic smile to the blonde haired boy who only laughed with a parting glance, his gray-green eyes alight with excitement.

Goodbyes were sweet and tear-filled, the latter on the part of her father, the former on both Grangers desperate to savor a few final moments with their girl before sending her into a world they knew little-to-nothing about. Hermione pressed a brief kiss to both their cheeks then bounded toward the door.

Her trunk had been collected, her satchel secured over her shoulder, and Hermione went in search of a compartment to camp out in for the journey onward. An identical pair of red-heads maneuvered around her in the corridor followed closely by a young man with ebony skin and a laugh that echoed behind them.

Finally she came upon a compartment with an occupant she recognized: the boy from the platform. Clearing her throat, Hermione offered him her best smile, albeit somewhat timid. "Is this seat taken?" she asked, gesturing to the bare bench across from him.

The young man had been lounging on his back, picking at the fraying tassels on a green and silver scarf, when the girl interrupted his thoughts, and he shot up like a firebolt. He, too, cleared his throat then sleeked his hair back with a lack of finesse but a determination to play it off.

Hermione was already making herself at home on the plaid cushion when he replied, "Yes, actually, it's.." His voice trailed as his eyebrow quirked, giving her a once over. She was small, with wild curls that reminded him of his aunt, though he'd only seen her in pictures.

"Sorry about earlier," she replied chipperly, offering him yet another smile. He could very well be her first wizarding friend and she wasn't going to miss this opportunity.

This one he did not so easily return; instead a smirk played at his lips. "I don't know you." This girl appeared confident, content, and oblivious to the gift it was to be in his presence. It was oddly amusing.

Hermione matched his quirked eyebrow with one of her own, the smile remaining. "And I don't know you. I'm Hermione Granger." Her hand jetted forward in greeting.

"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy," said the boy, taking her hand in his. When she gave no acknowledgment of recognizing the name, he repeated. "You really don't know who I am?"

Shaking her head, she replied simply, "No, should I?" Malfoy was not a name she recalled from any of her reading, and she had accumulated a small library over the past few months.

His eyes flickered from her face to their hands which were still connected. He released her grasp quickly and reached again for the scarf, this time draping it over his shoulders proudly.

"Slytherin? Have you already been sorted?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer but his compartment companion was continuing on without him.

"I've read all about the sorting hat and the houses. Ravenclaw sounds interesting, but I suppose all the others–"

"I haven't been sorted yet," he interjected, "but when I am it will be Slytherin. Malfoys are always in Slytherin." His chest puffed out and chin lifted in pride.

"I don't think you get to choose," she pointed out. "The sorting hat sorts for you."

"What about you then?" he retorted sharply. "Your family must expect you to be somewhere."

"Actually, I–" But Hermione was cut off at that moment by two blundering blokes barreling into the compartment.

"What's she doing 'ere," complained the largest of the two as he sank to a seat by the window, thundering past Hermione and stepping on her toes.

Draco rolled his eyes. "She's with me. This is Crabbe," he nodded to the shorter, more portly boy on his right, "and Goyle," he gestured to the young man scowling from the window.

"Hermione," she replied, "Granger." Her nose crinkled as she noted a particularly foul smell. Again, she started to speak but another figure appeared in the doorway.

"Have any of you seen a toad? I've lost Trevor." The boy had shaggy brown hair, a pair of oversized front teeth, and searching eyes. He scratched nervously at an oversized sweater vest hoping for any sign of his missing pet.

Hermione offered him a half-smile. "No, sorry. Not in here."

"A toad?" Draco scoffed and his cronies laughed alongside him. "Who brings a toad to Hogwarts?"

The young man in the doorway turned pink and seemed to shrink. "H-he was my uncles. Grandmum will k-kill me if I don't find him."

"Maybe she should," barked Crabbe, still guffawing unnecessarily.

"That's not very nice," Hermione pointed out, her dislike for the lopsided pair surrounding her first wizarding friend ever-growing. "Here. I'll help you look," she offered, moving to follow after him.

"Th-thanks."

Hermione dared a glance at Draco before slipping out into the corridor after the boy. Someone had to help him. They were only two compartments down when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Oy, Granger!"

Turning on her heel, she spotted Draco moving toward her, a leather bag in hand. "You left this," he said, holding it out to her.

A broad smile spread across her lip. "Thanks. I guess I forgot."

"I know." This time, a grin swept across his face, followed by a laugh. "See you at the sorting, yeah?"

Hermione nodded, slinging the bag over her shoulder. "Yeah. See you." Her gaze lingered as his figure retreated back to their compartment, and he flashed her what would be known as his signature smirk before disappearing inside. She had made a friend. Wouldn't her parents be proud?

"Any luck?" Neville Longbottom's voice brought her back to reality.

In her first hour away from home, Hermione had made two friends, actually, and this one needed her help. Turning back to him, she offered a smile and nodded forward. "Sorry, not yet. But we'll find him. Come on, let's keep looking."

The two moved onto the next compartment, but not before Hermione cast one final glance back down the hall. Draco Malfoy was a curiosity, and with any luck she'd sort him out, too.


	3. Chapter 2: Now

_HERE AND NOW: St. Mungo's Hospital_

* * *

Every morning was a test. At least, Hermione felt like it was. When light would peak beneath her eyelids, she would take her time giving way to the day, slowly assessing her progress.

 _Where was she in pain?_ Today, a slight headache, but nothing compared to yesterday, with a diminished throbbing in her arm. The rest of her had miraculously –"Magically," Draco would correct gently– been healed by various spells and potions.

Her nose crinkled at the thought. Whatever draught she had taken to mend her ribs tasted like street sludge and pine, and it gave her the chills for the better part of an afternoon.

Now, back to her test.  
Pain, minimal.  
Groggyness, fading.  
Name, Hermione Jean Granger.  
Age, nineteen.  
Location, St. Mungo's.  
History…. in pieces.

It was this question that always caused her shoulders to sink and a sigh to push from her lips, even before her almond eyes had fully opened. Each night she held out hope that in the morning, something would come back to her. But so far nothing had. After day four brought no results, Hermione had dissolved into tears when Draco entered with her coffee; she couldn't remember if she liked two sugars or one and that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Four, actually," Draco admitted with a grin when the blubbering stopped. A sad laugh bubbled out of her and she sniffled into her cup, thanking him for being so patient with her. He had been the picture of patience day one, and today would be no different.

Lashes finally fluttering open, her gaze landed on his figure lounging in the chair beside her bed. His steel gray eyes were on her, too, brow raised slightly in their unspoken question. Always gaging, always hopeful, he, too, wondered when the memories would return.

Hermione rolled carefully onto her side, holding her still-healing arm close to her, and studied him. "Who are you again?" she asked in an almost teasing tone.

"Ha, ha, very funny," was his reply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. However, Draco halted mid-way, suddenly serious. "You are kidding aren't you?"

Nodding, she brushed at the corner of her eyes, removing the last lingering bit of sleep. "I am. I remember you. Well, I don't remember but I remember."

His smile returned and softened, and she was comforted by his nearness. "That's good enough for me."

But was it really, she wondered. How long would it be enough? They had so much history, this she now knew thanks to his daily storytelling and the dozens of questions she peppered him with on the regular, but she remembered none of it except as one remembered the plot of a good book. There were so many details she was sure he cherished, even though he was barely touching the surface when sharing.

Would he really remain with her even if she never remembered? She couldn't remember if he was the staying kind or not. And the scary part was that she had begun to hope he was.

"What are you thinking about?" Draco's voice pulled her out of her thoughts and she stifled a yawn.

"Nothing."

He quirked a brow at her and spoke gently. "I know that look. It's something."

Hermione's smile twisted at the side of her mouth. It felt good to be known, even if she didn't know herself. "It's nothing. Promise." His look revealed his doubt, but he argued it no further. She had noticed he had a habit of doing that. "Any chance there's coffee?" she added brightly.

"Not yet, but I can go get some," he offered with a chuckle, rising from the chair.

Hermione sat up as he moved, pulling the covers back around her. "Four sugars, please," she piped up just as he reached the door.

Draco's grin spread wide. "Of course, love."

Their morning routine was shaping up, and anything that felt like routine was welcomed to her. Even if he caught himself mid-air when handing her the coffee, halting before kissing her forehead, or she stumbled over words and names when trying to put their past together. They had hello and they had coffee, and they had eternity to sort the rest of it out. That she could remember, and that she was thankful for.


End file.
